Martin Luther King Jr (MLK) Day

There were warnings of freezing rain. Although it is a hospital holiday today, I am on call. Black ice-covered driveway greeted my journey to the hospital for rounds. Roads were largely desolate. It was a while before I saw any car. Sky was gloomy and dark. Skidding here and swerving there, I reached the hospital. I rounded with a competent clinical fellow and we were done by the afternoon. I drove back home. As I was attempting ascend up the steep driveway to my garage, the car protested. On the ice, the car veered in wanton. It would slide to the right, glide to the left, drift backwards but not up. 

Defeated, as I waited at the bottom of the driveway for some brilliant idea to materialize, I could not escape the irony of this day. A day commemorating a man who sacrificed his life peacefully striving for racial justice. Today, it feels as if the world is back to square one. The West staggers in an amnesiac stupor, completely oblivious of its treacherous past, as if it is seeking a calamitous jolt. No wonder the day appears weepy. And the town frozen in its wistful tears. 

Over a pile of snow on the sidewalk adjoining the driveway, I made an attempt. One side of the car was on grass now.  Riding the crunchy friction, I made it to the top of the driveway. The vehicle will witness this blubbering night while I seek warmth with my family inside. 

Artha

Dear son Artha, 

Not long ago, your mommy and I were rewarded the knowledge of your conception through a positive urine pregnancy test. It is hard to describe the exact feeling of seeing those lines turn color on the pregnancy test kit. An abstract announcement of life. Precipitous. Somehow, fragility has piggybacked that moment and trails to date. That we have a fragile and precious existence bestowed upon us and told: you are responsible. Anxious about your safety, “one-day-at-a-time,” we have told ourselves since.  

A notion at that moment, you asserted your presence in mommy’s nausea and anorexia. We saw you for the first time as a wormy construct on the ultrasound. On the second ultrasound, your structures became clearer; we could make out your head, heart, hands and feet. We even knew that you are a boy! Very early in a cool spring Maine morning, you decided to make entry into the external world. Mommy writhed in pain for hours while daddy was consigned a role of passive witness (remember, that is one reason why we boys will always remain the inferior sex- we are biologically incapable of that sacrifice). You came screaming. Those were the most genial decibels your parents have experienced in their lives. When I saw you for the first time, somehow, it did not feel like a first encounter. It felt as if I had known you always. Introduction was needless.

It has now been over eight months since your arrival. You sit stably. You smile abundantly. You speak in syllables. You like company. You like outings. 

Well, that is your daddy's attempt to express your development in tangible terms for a process that is much more nuanced. If you asked daddy to sum his experience of witnessing your growth and parenting so far, it would be this: Daddy had thought parenting would mean teaching you things to help grow to a more mature individual. What he has realized is that it is more of a role of servitude. Servitude to an innocence that has certain needs. It is parents who are taught things. Taught by being positioned in extremes- a crying baby amidst sleep deprivation, you can not resolve what is bothering, can you maintain your patience? We constantly try things, learn new things; you keep changing, we try to keep pace. At this stage, we are the learners. Daddy's dear friend says, as you grow there will come a time when you will look up to us to learn things. I trust that. It seems to me that we are in for a journey where we will learn from each other, always.

Forever yours, 

Dad.